Do you mean this horrid creep
Set upon weary feet
Who looks in need of sleep
That doesn't come
This twisted, tortured mess
This place of sinfulness
Who's longing for some rest
And feeling numb

What do you expect of me
What is it you want?
Whatever you've planned for me
I'm not the one

A vicious appetite
It visits me each night
And won't be satisfied
Won't be denied
An unbearable pain
A beating in my brain
That leaves the mark of Cain
Right here inside

What am I supposed to do?
When everything that I've done
Is leading me to conclude
I'm not the one

Whatever I've done
I've been staring down the barrel of a gun
Whatever I've done
I've been staring down the barrel of a gun
Whatever I've done
I've been staring down the barrel of a gun

Is there something you need from me?
Are you having your fun?
I never agreed to be
Your Holy One

Whatever I've done
I've been staring down the barrel of a gun
Whatever I've done
I've been staring down the barrel of a gun
Whatever I've done
I've been staring down the barrel of a gun

Dantooine:
Although the flour transport explosion happened a mere two days ago, the street was still closed off to traffic. A speeder had run a light and damaged a flour transport. The impact had put large amounts of finely ground flour into the air, and the damaged speeder ignited the mixture, making a fuel air bomb. This had happened before. It wasn’t unheard of. It happened every twenty years or so someone would hit a flour truck and the mix would be right.

Adia stood at the scorched spot where the transport’s container had exploded. She had “permission” from the locals to investigate the site, but her Imperial Security Bureau uniform (although technically an ImpIntel agent, she had rank with ISB too) and rank meant she did whatever she pleased. The local police force had been given to swallowing a lot, terrified that they had missed something. They had, but it wasn’t their fault.

She looked down at the blackend tarmac, datapad in hand. It still smelled of the explosion. She examined the pictures of the twisted container on the pad while she walked the perimeter of where the container’s structure would have mushroomed out, as indicated by the cracked roadway. Adia reached down, running a finger briefly along the crack before standing back up.

Adia still wasn’t quite sure of what she was doing besides playing a hunch. According to a local newsnet, a young woman had performed exceptional heroics. That wasn’t unheard of either, except there were a few quotes from witnesses that described superhuman feats. In times of stress people tend to exaggerate details. But she had interviewed a few eye witnesses that seemed to be quite sure of what they saw. She had stopped at the news agency and confiscated whatever images they had. The Hand didn’t want any potential new heroines for the Empire to fight, so if this young woman didn’t exist. It was bad enough when Princess Leia Organa died on Endor and the Rebels sent her, Skywalker, Solo and his Wookie into the stuff of legends.

Intel had a moto about this sort of situation: Keep it quiet, keep it uncomplicated and keep them dead before earning fame. She ordered tea, and set to look at some of the photos a local with a camera took minutes after, and hadn’t been circulated at all. It was unsurprisingly chaotic. Adia sipped at the tea, going through the sixty images, one by one. About a quarter were too blurry to be of use, but the others had enough focus to make out people. On the second pass, she noted the repeating figures. The Hand got another cup of tea halfway through the third pass. Flowing brown hair and calm eyes, she was the eye of the storm. This young woman was a dot of calm in a violent scene, but with the most intensity directly around her. She’d seen that sort of calm and focus, in the Clone Wars. Adia frowned. She was far too young. Even if the Jedi could be exceptionally long lived, they tended to hit maturity in a timely manner. But the calm was unmistakable. Adia sorted the images again, the ones without the woman into a separate file, to be returned to the local newsnet.

Adia got the best image of her she could, cropped it, ran it through a sharpening and noise reduction filter, and set it separately. The woman looked familiar to the Hand, but could not place it. She showed the image around to the shop owners on the block, and a few had seen her, but it wasn’t until she hit the spaceport that there was any luck.

A ticket to Bakura, and was unusually worried.

“You don’t forget a face like that.” said the young ticket clerk. He was nervous despite Adia’s casual demeanor, but still helpful. No, indeed you did not, but why was she having trouble placing the familiarity? She stopped worrying about it, thanked the young man for his time, boarded her Lambda class shuttle, and burned hard for space.